“Oh, absolutely,” Alex said cheerfully. “Pretzel?”
Charlotte ignored the basket of snacks he handed her. “Furthermore, although this kidnapping has been done in the name of the League, Mrs. Chuke would not approve, since I am a reputable lady and you are—”
“Rogues?” Alex suggested.
“Knaves?” Bixby offered.
“Deplorable pirates,” Charlotte said. “Therefore, I must hide from her—and from any and all other witches we might encounter. For the sake of the amulet, you understand.”
“I understand,” Alex replied in a tone that suggested he understood only too well. Looking her in the eye finally, he tipped his smile between wickedness and sweetness.My God, Charlotte thought, how many women have drowned in that charm? And why do I envy them?Flustered, and annoyed at being flustered, she leaned forward again to scrutinize the pub’s inhabitants.
“I cannot, in fact, see Mrs. Chuke anywhere.”
“No,” Bixby agreed, “but I count three pirates.”
Alex’s beer mug met the table’s surface with athunk. “Details,” he ordered brusquely.
Bixby did not move more than his eyes as he indicated each pirate in turn. “Mrs. Etterly is sitting three tables behind us, sharpening swizzle sticks with her dagger. And the Rotunders are playing cards over there. Mr. Rotunder just discarded his entire hand. Literally. He’s screwing on a hook instead.”
Alex straightened. “Time to leave.”
“I don’t think they’ve seen us,” Bixby said.
“No, but it sounds like they’ve seen each other. You create a distraction and I’ll—”
Smash!
Alex’s instructions were rendered unnecessary by the arrival of anindependent distraction: to wit, a beer mug thrown at Mrs. Etterly’s table. The glass shattered and beer splashed widely, causing an outraged “Well I never!” from Mrs. Etterly.
Bixby’s eyes widened in an excess of astonishment.
“Is there a fourth you didn’t count?” Alex asked.
“No. The mug was thrown by Miss Dearlove.”
“Huh. In any case, we’re leaving. You go out the front, and I’ll take—”
“I see you! Scoundrel!” There came a shudder of furniture as Mrs. Etterly rose abruptly from her chair, the bustle of her dress shoving it back to smack against the floor.
“I smelled you ten minutes ago!” Mrs. Rotunder leaped from her own chair, cards flying.
Mrs. Etterly gasped. “I am wearing an eau de toilette the Duchess of Uzes gave to me in thanks for not shooting her or burning down her house.”
“Eau de toilette? Smells more like water you took from the toilet.”
“Well I—”
Smash!
Another beer mug exploded on the floor between them. The pirates looked at it in momentary bewilderment, since clearly neither had thrown it, then cast such petty considerations aside and drew their swords.
“En garde!” Mrs. Etterly shouted.
“Prepare to die!” Mrs. Rotunder shouted in reply.
“Never!”
“Um, dearest,” Mr. Rotunder said, tugging on his wife so he might whisper to her. She listened, then straightened again, her expression poised between fury and dignity.
